fic: we've got no chance of recovery (tommy/kevin)
we've got no chance of recovery
the black donnellys fic, kevin/tommy. hard r, warning: incest, spoilers for pilot.
Later, after he's shot and killed two men, after he's pulled their lifeless bodies in off the empty street, Tommy holds him up against a dirty brick wall and groans, "Kevin, Kevin, fuck," against his mouth. There's blood on Tommy's hands and maybe his are dirty too, there's a certain dampness at the edge of his sleeve, but Kevin doesn't really know, he's too distant from it. All he has left is the memory of cool steel against his palm, that's all he'll let himself think about.
They're his first kill, and Kevin doesn't know what to do with that fact, other than categorize it away with all the rest of his firsts: the first time he made it to first base with a girl, the first time he stole a car, the first time he fought with one of his brothers, the first time he kissed one. It seems large and looming among the rest, with all the weight of something unforgivable, but Kevin doesn't let himself think about. Not with the feel of Tommy pressing against his chest, the heat of his brother's skin below the collar of his shirt, because it has to be so much worse for Tommy, the only good Donnelly brother, the only one with a conscience. He might come from a family prone to violence and illegal behavior but people around their neighborhood have always thought better of him. He'd given them reason to, until now.
For Kevin, this type of thing has always been inevitable. For Kevin, this was the one sure road. And it's not nearly as hard to fall when everyone's expecting it from you.
So Kevin doesn't react. He doesn't cry - not that he would have, not that he has in a long time - and he doesn't get sick. Maybe some part of him feels guilty, the cold chill at the back of his neck nothing to do with the night air, but Tommy is staring back at him with eyes like the bottom of a beer bottle, reflective and oh so empty, giving away nothing. And that look means more than anything else, more than the sharp crack of a bullet, more than the dull thud of a body hitting the pavement. Kevin has never seen that look on Tommy's face before, never, and if he can, if it's at all possible, he'll do what it takes to chase it away.
His hand is at Tommy's fly before he knows what he's doing, popping open the button and yanking down the zipper, biting his lip with something like determination. "God, don't," Tommy says, but what he means is yes, what he means is keep going. Kevin can see it in his face, plain as day, as he shoves his fingers down past cotton boxers, colliding with hot, hard flesh. They've never gone this far. In all the years they've been circling each other, pulling each other into empty bedrooms and the backseats of stolen cars to kiss, desperate and panting, they've never done anything like this. Tommy hasn't let them. But he does now, letting his head fall back as Kevin takes him in hand, fingers closing clumsily around his cock.
The angle is awkward and slow at first, it's not like Kevin's ever done this before, but he gets the hang of it after a minute, moving his hand like he'd do if he was only touching himself. Tommy leans into him, his mouth half-open against Kevin's shoulder, breath hot and damp even through the fabric of his shirt. He's holding onto Kevin like he's afraid of what might happen if he lets go, the blunt edge of his fingernails digging into skin, drawing blood, his hips rocking up into the touch with each downstroke. "That's it," he's muttering, turning his face into Kevin's neck, "just like that."
Kevin doesn't know how this will change things between them, or if it even will at all. He's never been a think-first type of person, he doubts he ever will be, and there may be a reason Tommy never let them do this, but it feels right enough now. So much that he just doesn't care about the consequences. Not when Tommy's holding onto him like this, like Kevin's the only thing keeping him together, not when that awful, empty look is gone from his face. He's flushed and beautiful, arching against Kevin, and at least for now, he's not thinking about death, however temporary it might be. He's not thinking about what just happened, and that's enough for Kevin.
There's a brief pause, Kevin pulling his hand back just long enough to lick his palm, getting it wet, his eyes on his brother while he does it. Tommy's eyes go wide, his mouth soft looking in the dim light of the alley, and the noises he makes when Kevin jerks him again don't even sound human. It only takes a few more strokes, quick and damp, then Tommy is coming, biting at Kevin's mouth to keep from crying out, a cruel imitation of a kiss.
They stay like that for a little while, huddled against the filthy wall, Tommy holding onto Kevin until the liquid-weak feeling in his knees fades and he's able to pull himself together. When he pulls away, Kevin looks at him, squinting past the shadows the dim light casts on his brother's face. The expression there is still far too close to empty, but it has changed. There's a bright, almost feverish look in Tommy's eyes, replacing the deadened glint, and he looks determined more than anything else. It makes Kevin a little nervous, but it's better than before, it's better than seeing defeat in the lines of Tommy's face, something he never thought he'd see there, something he never wants to see again.
"C'mon," Tommy says, voice rough, as he rebuckles his belt. "We should get back to the hospital."
Kevin nods. There's not much else to say. He's done what he can for Tommy, any words he might think to say now would only be trivial. He finds a piece of crumpled newspaper on the ground to wipe his hand off on, clearing his throat as he straightens to find Tommy looking at him, not yet smiling but looking like he wants to. He has a feeling this isn't over yet, that they might have gotten themselves in deeper than they can know, but looking at Tommy, Kevin doesn't regret it. He'd follow Tommy into hell if that's what it took, without a second thought, and they both know it.
There's more important blood than the blood on his hands.
the black donnellys fic, kevin/tommy. hard r, warning: incest, spoilers for pilot.
Later, after he's shot and killed two men, after he's pulled their lifeless bodies in off the empty street, Tommy holds him up against a dirty brick wall and groans, "Kevin, Kevin, fuck," against his mouth. There's blood on Tommy's hands and maybe his are dirty too, there's a certain dampness at the edge of his sleeve, but Kevin doesn't really know, he's too distant from it. All he has left is the memory of cool steel against his palm, that's all he'll let himself think about.
They're his first kill, and Kevin doesn't know what to do with that fact, other than categorize it away with all the rest of his firsts: the first time he made it to first base with a girl, the first time he stole a car, the first time he fought with one of his brothers, the first time he kissed one. It seems large and looming among the rest, with all the weight of something unforgivable, but Kevin doesn't let himself think about. Not with the feel of Tommy pressing against his chest, the heat of his brother's skin below the collar of his shirt, because it has to be so much worse for Tommy, the only good Donnelly brother, the only one with a conscience. He might come from a family prone to violence and illegal behavior but people around their neighborhood have always thought better of him. He'd given them reason to, until now.
For Kevin, this type of thing has always been inevitable. For Kevin, this was the one sure road. And it's not nearly as hard to fall when everyone's expecting it from you.
So Kevin doesn't react. He doesn't cry - not that he would have, not that he has in a long time - and he doesn't get sick. Maybe some part of him feels guilty, the cold chill at the back of his neck nothing to do with the night air, but Tommy is staring back at him with eyes like the bottom of a beer bottle, reflective and oh so empty, giving away nothing. And that look means more than anything else, more than the sharp crack of a bullet, more than the dull thud of a body hitting the pavement. Kevin has never seen that look on Tommy's face before, never, and if he can, if it's at all possible, he'll do what it takes to chase it away.
His hand is at Tommy's fly before he knows what he's doing, popping open the button and yanking down the zipper, biting his lip with something like determination. "God, don't," Tommy says, but what he means is yes, what he means is keep going. Kevin can see it in his face, plain as day, as he shoves his fingers down past cotton boxers, colliding with hot, hard flesh. They've never gone this far. In all the years they've been circling each other, pulling each other into empty bedrooms and the backseats of stolen cars to kiss, desperate and panting, they've never done anything like this. Tommy hasn't let them. But he does now, letting his head fall back as Kevin takes him in hand, fingers closing clumsily around his cock.
The angle is awkward and slow at first, it's not like Kevin's ever done this before, but he gets the hang of it after a minute, moving his hand like he'd do if he was only touching himself. Tommy leans into him, his mouth half-open against Kevin's shoulder, breath hot and damp even through the fabric of his shirt. He's holding onto Kevin like he's afraid of what might happen if he lets go, the blunt edge of his fingernails digging into skin, drawing blood, his hips rocking up into the touch with each downstroke. "That's it," he's muttering, turning his face into Kevin's neck, "just like that."
Kevin doesn't know how this will change things between them, or if it even will at all. He's never been a think-first type of person, he doubts he ever will be, and there may be a reason Tommy never let them do this, but it feels right enough now. So much that he just doesn't care about the consequences. Not when Tommy's holding onto him like this, like Kevin's the only thing keeping him together, not when that awful, empty look is gone from his face. He's flushed and beautiful, arching against Kevin, and at least for now, he's not thinking about death, however temporary it might be. He's not thinking about what just happened, and that's enough for Kevin.
There's a brief pause, Kevin pulling his hand back just long enough to lick his palm, getting it wet, his eyes on his brother while he does it. Tommy's eyes go wide, his mouth soft looking in the dim light of the alley, and the noises he makes when Kevin jerks him again don't even sound human. It only takes a few more strokes, quick and damp, then Tommy is coming, biting at Kevin's mouth to keep from crying out, a cruel imitation of a kiss.
They stay like that for a little while, huddled against the filthy wall, Tommy holding onto Kevin until the liquid-weak feeling in his knees fades and he's able to pull himself together. When he pulls away, Kevin looks at him, squinting past the shadows the dim light casts on his brother's face. The expression there is still far too close to empty, but it has changed. There's a bright, almost feverish look in Tommy's eyes, replacing the deadened glint, and he looks determined more than anything else. It makes Kevin a little nervous, but it's better than before, it's better than seeing defeat in the lines of Tommy's face, something he never thought he'd see there, something he never wants to see again.
"C'mon," Tommy says, voice rough, as he rebuckles his belt. "We should get back to the hospital."
Kevin nods. There's not much else to say. He's done what he can for Tommy, any words he might think to say now would only be trivial. He finds a piece of crumpled newspaper on the ground to wipe his hand off on, clearing his throat as he straightens to find Tommy looking at him, not yet smiling but looking like he wants to. He has a feeling this isn't over yet, that they might have gotten themselves in deeper than they can know, but looking at Tommy, Kevin doesn't regret it. He'd follow Tommy into hell if that's what it took, without a second thought, and they both know it.
There's more important blood than the blood on his hands.